


Trust Me (To Hold You Tight)

by soufflegirl91



Series: 007 Fest Creations [13]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Q (James Bond), Dom Q, Light BDSM, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Non-Sexual Submission, Sub James Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 21:25:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19876309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soufflegirl91/pseuds/soufflegirl91
Summary: James Bond just wants the noise in his head to go away. Q offers to help.





	Trust Me (To Hold You Tight)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [opalescentgold](https://archiveofourown.org/users/opalescentgold/gifts).



> For 007 Fest 2019 Aro/Ace day. Also for Opal, who wanted Sub!James.
> 
> This started off as a cosy little ficlet about Q giving James a massage. Somehow, it morphed onto... this. The longest thing I've ever written, and completely different to anything else I've written.
> 
> I am not a mental health professional. Bond has PTSD which manifests in him hearing echoes of the people he couldn’t save. His coping mechanisms are not always healthy, but Q is trying to help. There is a minor misunderstanding along the way. I don't think there are any triggers here, but if you have any concerns I'm happy to summarise for you.

For years, since joining the Navy, James Bond had been looking for a way to clear his head. To find a way of achieving the same mental peace and quiet he remembered having as a child. When quiet actually meant quiet, no sound and no thoughts. Just... experiencing the moment. Not constantly hearing the echoes of all the people he couldn’t save (and even a few that he could save. Temporarily. Never permanently). Oh, he knew how to ignore the noise well enough on a mission. If he had a clear enough focus, he could tune it out to background noise. Background noise wasn’t the same thing as true quiet, though. 

Nothing that he had tried so far had worked. Alcohol dulled the noise, but more in the way of hearing something underwater. The noise was still there, just as an unintelligible blur instead of the usual voices. It was worse, even, than being sober, but alcohol also had the benefit of making him forget. Just a little, and not for long, but sometimes it was enough. Until he woke up the next day and the voices were louder than ever.

Sex never helped. It was a thing he did on missions. Sex had always made the noise louder, to the point where all the voices became screams and he could barely stand it. Bond had stopped “wooing” anyone outside of a mission years ago, but somehow the reputation still followed him around. 

Talking to Psych was a thing that was never going to happen, and so Bond’s attempts at making his mind just shut up for a while continued. Some things worked, most things didn’t. The things that did work were ill-advised at best. God forbid anyone at MI6 find out about some of them – he would be out on his ear before he knew it. 

Somehow, God knew how, Q had picked up on Bond’s struggle. He never asked for details, but he seemed to know when Bond needed a distraction. Clear instructions, no room to over-think, always a focus in mind. It helped. 

It almost went horribly wrong. Bond had just returned from a mission, Q’s guidance keeping the echoes at bay more than anything else had for a long time. 

“You know, if finding quiet inside your head is becoming a problem, there are things that can help,” Q had said, “I’ll send you some reading material. Off the books, of course.”

The reading material had been... interesting. Not at all what he would have expected from Q. Bond knew all about BDSM, of course, it was hard to go on as many undercover missions as he had without coming across it, but he had never tried it outside of missions. During missions, it wasn’t something he could ever fully experience as he always had a different focus in mind. 

The next time he had chance, during some downtime after a mission in Berlin, Bond thought he might as well give it a try. He made arrangements with a couple of trusted friends-of-friends, willing to teach him. It did not help. At all. In fact, it made the noise about a hundred times worse. Bond left as soon as was polite, and went out to get very, very drunk. 

When he returned to Q Branch, he told Q that while the reading material was very interesting, the practical had been counter-productive. Q had just looked at him in that way he had. Direct eye contact, eyebrow slightly raised and giving Bond the impression that he was staring through his face into his soul. 

“Do you trust me?” 

“What?” Bond was confused. “Of course I trust you to have my back, Q.”

“No. Not on a mission,” Q continued looking at Bond inscrutably, “do you trust me?”

Bond paused, giving Q’s question the consideration it deserved. The truth of the matter was that he did trust Q. In the field and out of it. 

“Yes.” 

“I’ve a feeling that you may have got the wrong end of the stick during your time in Berlin.” Bond didn’t ask how Q knew. It never paid to ask how Q did anything. “Would you be willing to let me come over to your flat for dinner tonight to discuss this further? It’s not really a conversation one should have at work.”

Bond thought it over. On the one hand, this had the potential to go terribly wrong for their working relationship. On the other, Q had never been anything less than direct in his intentions, and Bond knew all of the hidden security measures in his flat. If Q tried anything Bond didn’t want, he wouldn’t stand a chance. Even the thought of Q trying anything on Bond seemed a little ridiculous. 

“Bring Indian. I’ll see you at 7.”

* * *

  
As expected, Q rang the doorbell promptly. When Bond let him in, he passed over the bag of Indian food, removing his shoes without Bond having to ask. 

“Wine?” Bond took the bag over to the coffee table. He had figured that Indian food and this sort of conversation would be better on the sofa than at the austere dining table gathering dust in the corner. 

“Actually, I’d prefer it if neither of us drank anything alcoholic tonight,” Q replied, once again looking at Bond’s face with a serious but inscrutable expression, “water will be fine for me, please.”

With a mental shrug, he retrieved two glasses and the jug of tap water he kept in the fridge. He had told Q he trusted him, so he was willing to follow his lead. For now. 

“When I sent you those links, did you think I was telling to you be the dominant or submissive participant?” 

Apparently small talk wasn’t on the cards for the evening. 

“I assumed dominant. Usually when I have a focus, it helps.”

“Focus can help, yes. But James, who is it that gives you the focus?”

Ah. Well, then. That explained a lot.

There followed a surprisingly relaxed dinner, during which Q explained a lot more about what he had intended Bond to infer from his homework. Never did Q make Bond feel uncomfortable. He kept his explanations impersonal, answered all of the questions he asked (many without him even needing to ask), and even side-tracked onto an interesting psychology study that somehow remained relevant to the conversation. 

Bond found himself more engaged in the conversation than he had ever expected. The noise inside his head was the quietest it had been for a long time. Almost non-existent. Almost. 

Everything Q had said had made sense to Bond in a way he hadn’t been expecting, but he still had several concerns. 

“Q, am I correct in thinking that this is something you have more than just dabbled with?”

“It is. I’ve been part of the BDSM scene since uni, on and off. I identify as a switch,” Q had previously explained what that meant, “but over the past few years I’ve found myself taking on the dominant role most often. What few chances I get, what with work and all.”

“And it’s something you would be willing to try? With me?” Bond wanted to make sure they were firmly on the same page.

“If that’s what you want.”

“What you’ve explained – the feeling, the quiet. I want that. But Q, I can’t sacrifice our working relationship. I’m not sure any sort of sexual relationship is a good idea, even if it does help my head.”

Q looked at Bond intently.

“James, I’m asexual. Any kind of relationship we consider, whether that is just friendship or whether you do want to try submitting to me, sex won’t be part of it. That’s not something I can offer you. I don’t think it’s what you want, either.”

Despite himself, Bond relaxed. It didn’t really fix anything, but at the same time it suddenly seemed a lot less daunting.

“Ok. If you’re willing, I’d like to give it a try.”

Over hot tea and kulfi, Q led Bond through a discussion of limits (“I won’t cause you pain, Bond. You get enough of that at work, and I couldn’t stand to cause you more. If that turns out to be something you need, I can suggest some trusted people.”) and things he thought might prove effective to keep Bond focused in the moment (“how do you feel about blindfolds? I can see how rope bondage or handcuffs might cause problems, but what about scarves? Something you can slip free from easily.”). Gradually, they came up with a plan. 

“I have 003 on a mission in New Zealand tomorrow, but provided that doesn’t blow up too badly, I should be free on Thursday. I know you’re on leave all week, so would that work for you?”

Bond frowned.

“Thursday? I thought we would try it tonight?”  
Q shook his head.

“You need time to be sure it’s really what you want. Shall we say Thursday 8? You have my number, text me on Thursday morning to let me know if you still want to go ahead. There’s no pressure if you change your mind.”

That drew their evening to a natural close. Q left shortly after, leaving Bond behind with a lot to think about. 

* * *

On Thursday morning, Bond had texted Q to confirm that they were still on for this evening. Q had replied saying that he would bring dinner again and that Bond should wear something comfortable.

He had thought the day would drag, but it actually flew by. Before Bond knew it, the doorbell rang. 

“Q.”

“Good evening, James,” Q greeted, handing over the bag of takeaway sushi, “please could you put these on the coffee table? Oh, and soft drinks only again tonight. I only do this with a clear head.”

Bond left Q to remove his coat and shoes while he placed the bag on the table and retrieved the water jug. He had placed glasses and a couple of plates on the coffee table earlier, guessing that they would eat at the sofa. 

Bond had just filled both glasses and removed the boxes of sushi, tempura and what he suspected to be chocolate mochi when Q reappeared, barefoot but carrying his backpack. 

“We only need the one plate, tonight. Why don’t you put the second one back while I plate these up?” 

As soon as Bond nodded his acquiescence, Q set about removing lids, deftly transferring a selection of foods onto the plate with his chopsticks.

Once Bond had returned and sat beside him, Q gestured to his bag. 

“I know we discussed this before, but I’d like to blindfold you while we eat. You don’t need to worry about chopsticks, I’ll be the one feeding you. Is that alright with you, James?”

Bond appreciated the question. While they had come to a decision about the different things he wanted to try tonight, Bond was still very much in the dark about Q’s plan for the evening as a whole.

“Yes, that’s fine.”

Q removed a black blindfold from his bag. 

“I thought about using a scarf, but I think if there was any light you would be too busy trying to see through it rather than relaxing. Remember, this is a safe environment. If you ask me to stop, I will. I’d like you to try not to remove the blindfold yourself, but if at any point you need me to take it off, let me know. There is no right or wrong action. The only way this can go wrong is if your head gets worse and you don’t tell me.”

Bond nodded, letting Q fit the blindfold over his eyes. 

Immediately, he tensed, twitching as he felt Q’s palm come to rest solidly between his shoulder blades. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly and forcing his shoulders to relax.

“Very good, James. I know this isn’t easy. If it’s ok with you, I’m going to keep our knees touching. That way, you will know I haven’t gone anywhere. Now, lean back against the sofa.” Bond did as he was told. 

“I know you eat sashimi on missions, but I wasn’t sure about your sushi preferences. I went with vegetarian options, to be on the safe side. If there’s anything you try that you don’t like, tell me.”

“That should be fine. I’m not a huge fan of salmon, but I've never had any vegetarian sushi I didn’t like.” 

With Q feeding him bites of sushi and vegetable tempura, Bond could feel himself relaxing into the sofa. The ever-present echoes had settled down into a buzz that was as quiet as they ever got. It was... nice. 

“That’s good, James. Now, I’m going to take hold of your wrist to give you your glass of water. I’d like you to finish the glass, please. I know you never drink enough water on missions. Don’t worry, I won’t let you spill any.”

Bond did as he was told, finding that he really was more thirsty than he thought. When Q took the glass away, he let his hand drop without prompting. 

“Now, for dessert,” said Q, “I picked my favourite. Not strictly traditional, but neither is the rest of this meal.”

Bond felt the powdery cocoa brush his lips and opened his mouth to let Q place the soft mochi ball between his teeth. He bit down, savouring the contrast between sweet chocolate truffle centre and the silky, chewy casing. Eating was much more intense with the blindfold on. He finished chewing and licked his lips, not wanting to miss any cocoa. 

“Thank you, Q,” said Bond, quietly, not wanting to break whatever spell they seemed to be under. The noise was barely intelligible, now, “that was delicious.”

“You’re very welcome, James. Next, I’d like to give you a massage. Are you happy for me to lead you to your bed, or would you like me to remove the blindfold?”

Bond decided that since this was his flat, and he knew the way perfectly well in the dark, the blindfold could stay. Still, Q led Bond carefully around the furniture with a light hand on his elbow, murmuring directions but otherwise staying quiet. 

Once they reached the edge of the bed, Q sat Bond down, but stopped him before he could lie down.

“Would you be happy to remove your shirt? You don’t have to, but massage oil will be more comfortable than fabric.”

Bond did so, then Q situated Bond on his front in just his tracksuit bottoms, with his hands beneath his head.

“I know you agreed that scarves may work for bondage, but we aren’t trying that tonight. Try to keep your hands where they are, but I won’t be angry if you need to move them. This is meant to be a relaxing massage, so if anything is painful, I need you to tell me.”

Bond hummed his agreement, resting his head comfortably on the backs of his hands. His mind buzzing with little more than white noise, he couldn’t remember ever feeling so relaxed. And this was before the massage. He let the sounds of Q opening a bottle and obviously warming the oil in his hands wash over him. 

When Q’s hands first touched the centre of Bond’s back, he tensed a little, but immediately relaxed.

“Good, James. Try to stay relaxed,” murmured Q, slowly smoothing the oil along the length of Q’s back, “you’re doing so well for me.”

Bond thought fleetingly of replying, but this felt nice and the white noise was getting quieter, so he just sighed, contented. 

The massage was wonderful. Bond idly wondered if Q was a trained masseur or if it was just natural talent. Either way, he was glad to be on the receiving end. He settled into... not a doze, exactly, but a relaxed state of being where he didn’t have to think about anything. Q kept murmuring to him, telling him how happy he was with James, how well he was doing, but he never seemed to expect Bond to reply. 

What felt like short minutes later, but his body clock told him was almost an hour, Q’s hands disappeared from Bond’s back. He could hear Q wiping them off on a towel, before a warm towel was placed over him. It was only then that he realised that he didn’t hear anything else. The echoes had gone, for the first time in years.

“You were wonderful, James. Lie here a moment, I’m just going to fetch you a glass of water. Please don’t try to move just yet.”

There was no danger of that happening. Bond thought his spine might have fallen through the bed, because he felt pleasantly mushy. 

Q soon returned, guiding Bond into a seated position and telling him again to drink the whole glass of water. 

“Excellent, James. Now, I’m going to remove the blindfold, but I want you to keep your eyes closed for just a minute.” 

James did so, registering the slight change in light behind his eyelids, but feeling in no rush to see the world around him. He could tell that Q had turned off the overhead light, and must be using the bedside lamps. 

“Thank you, James. You can open your eyes, when you’re ready.”

After a few more seconds of peaceful, quiet darkness, Bond opened his eyes. Q was kneeling at his feet, smiling gently but proudly up at him.

“How was that?”

Bond opened his mouth to say that it was good, but he paused. How could he convey to Q just how much this had helped? He decided to just go with it, he was sure Q would understand.

“It was quiet. For the first time I can remember. Thank you, Q.” 

“You’re welcome, James. Sometimes, people like physical contact after a scene. Others would rather be left alone. How are you feeling? If you’d like some time alone, I’ll happily go and tidy up the dishes, but I’d prefer to stay on your sofa tonight, if that’s alright with you? I don’t want to leave you alone in the flat just yet.”

Bond found that he didn’t mind at all, and actually wanted Q to stay on the bed for a while. Q readily agreed, moving to sit against the headboard next to Bond, but letting Bond decide how much contact he wanted. Without really thinking about it, Bond leant his head against Q’s shoulder. Q lifted his arm to drape it over Bond’s shoulders, with a hand petting his hair.

“You did very well tonight, James. I’m glad it helped. Anytime you need this again, I’m happy to help you.”

They stayed there on the bed, basking in the silence, until Bond fell asleep. 


End file.
